


Bright Star

by gendryw4ters



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, and spina is one of mars' moons, based on a tumblr post about an au where babe is the sun and gene is the moon, but! i hope you like it all the same, renee is the sea, theres some keatsian plagiarism going on here cause man.. i love keats, waaay different to my normal style which is a little alarming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 23:38:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10752153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gendryw4ters/pseuds/gendryw4ters
Summary: an au in which babe is the sun and gene is the moon





	Bright Star

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [the original au post](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/286773) by docrhoe. 



> i tried not to reference any specific mythology/concepts like that in case i got things wrong so if any of this seems a bit odd it's because its entirely not rooted in pre-existing lores
> 
> and there's a little bit of keats in here too, cause man, i love keats

Edward was an artist, of that Gene was now more than certain.  

He had never even truly doubted it in fact, having only agreed to stay behind in order to watch the spectacle so that Renee would stop pestering him to do so. She had often used the shores to beckon him, scattering flotsam and jetsam across the sands in a manner so seemingly random that nobody on Earth could ever hope to imagine the vigorous planning that had gone into it. To those who loitered above it, dancing languidly around it’s skies in ways she had seen humans go about Maypoles, the message was all too clear.

_Come and see._

And so he did.  

It had been cold, the first time that he’d lingered. A crisp and frosted morning in _Februa_ , at least that’s what the humans had called it. Renee had told him so as he’d emerged, the waves hissing it at him in the way one might quietly scold a friend or relative who’d been unintentionally rude. He had never really stuck around before, having only ever caught glimpses of the _ortus_ as he busied himself elsewhere, arranging the lost souls who had joined him through the night into place. He would assure them of their usefulness; promising that their families and the families that followed would find comfort in their presence, and indeed they had. The humans would often find pictures amongst them, or seek them out for guidance. They were loved and cherished and revered, just as he had told them they would be.  

He had entrusted Spina with their care this time, knowing that he was never one to be too busy. It had delighted him, being given something other to do than to hover about the lifeless red mass he’d been assigned to.

He was especially glad when Gene had proposed the notion of shifts; eagerly steering new souls into their places over the course of the day whilst Gene took nights- opting to spend his days closer to the living.

_Lingering._

* * *

By the time Renee had finally confronted him about it, Gene had been lingering for _decades_. It wasn’t his fault, he had protested; the meteors whistling his excuses as they hurtled through the atmosphere. After all, it was _she_ who had encouraged him to do so. 

He had always had an eye for beauty, watching with eternal lids apart as the humans grew bolder with their nightlights, and had loved _dīpāvali_ especially.

Though nothing could have prepared him for Edward.  

Edward, who, on that first fateful Februa morn, had tiptoed ever so gently above the horizon, as though weary of waking all those slumbering beyond it. He took his time, before growing in courage, the birds calling out a cheerful reverie as he carefully tended to each and every being; leaving a glittering trail as he went. The church bells were already ringing once he’d maundered his way to town; caressing each and every rooftop with his shimmering touch, and bathing every bit of brickwork in a cozy orange glow.  

And Gene, well, Gene was breathless.  

And he had lingered ever since.

 _You must speak to him_ , Renee had insisted, the waves whipping up into a fervor at the urgency of her request, _I will not stand for this moping any longer._

He had known she was right, after all, it wasn’t as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him before. Though he had always held back, cautious of rendering himself a fool. After all, what did one say to an artist?  

The answer, of course, was nothing.

You responded only with art yourself.  

Though a frequent appreciater of it, and indeed (humbled as he was) often the subject of such pieces, Gene had never considered himself to be much of a creator; rather a guider, a shepherd of stars. He had almost convinced himself of the impossibility of his task when it finally came to him.  

For whilst a visual artist he may not be, his words had brought comfort to _billions._

He took his time, conjuring up each and every comet with the utmost love and care. He would murmur to them, his voice intertwining itself with their incandescent flames. He would send words of appreciation, words of admiration, of affection. He had no idea whether Edward would receive them or not, though he persisted nonetheless, determined, at least, to say _something_.

* * *

_Bright Star._

Edward awoke from his doze with a start, insides flickering with an unfamiliar sensation. He’d grown used to the whisperings, sure- he was rather fond of them, in fact. They had often brought him comfort; soothing his temper on the days it had gotten the better of him, and reminding him of his worth and kindness in the aftermath, when his rage he had scorched the earth below. They had come to a stop almost three months ago to the day, and his heart had ached ever since. A small smile had flickered across his lips as the shower began, the voice he was sure must have belonged to an angel echoed softly in the air around him.

_Would I were as fleeting as the beings on Earth,_

_Not in endless toil would I waste my days,_

_Destined to be miserable from the moment of birth._

_No- yet still fleeting, still ephemeral,_

_I would spend each hour gazing, upon your work._

_Watching endlessly as you rose and fell,_

_Fascinated, by each and every minute quirk._

_As anything else would be a squandering of time,_

_When in truth I am infallibly, irrevocably yours,_

_If only you too will be mine._

* * *

Gene had almost given up hope of a response by the time it had finally come.

He had been lingering, as he always did, when the clouds had come together to catch the light in the most peculiar of ways.  

 _It’s what the humans call a heart,_ a voice; warmer and softer than Gene could ever have possibly imagined had drifted over on the soft summer breeze.  

_They draw them on the sands sometimes, I think perhaps it is symbolic. I am not a great one for using my words, dear Gene. But the answer, of course, is yes._

**Author's Note:**

> i do not profess to be a poet but i am not so bad at ripping off other people's poetry for the #bants 
> 
> the thing about the stars being souls is something mam used to tell me, and i'd make sure to say goodnight to the family i had up there every evening. i think maybe this is not just a my-family thing though, like she definitely didn't invent the concept.
> 
> i hope you enjoyed it! also docrhoe is rad af you should totally go follow 'em! <3


End file.
